


In Which Eames Breaks Into Arthur's House to Watch PBS

by Amorak



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-30
Updated: 2014-01-30
Packaged: 2018-01-10 13:32:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1160278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amorak/pseuds/Amorak
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur’s jaw dropped. “Eames, do you watch the Antique Roadshow to troll for marks?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Which Eames Breaks Into Arthur's House to Watch PBS

  
Arthur arrived home to find Eames sitting on his couch, watching TV.  
  
“What the fuck are you doing, Eames? Arthur asked, dumping his groceries on the kitchen counter before turning to poke at the biometric scanner he had apparently put too much faith in.  
  
“Watching telly.” Eames replied. “Care to join me? I made dinner.”  
  
“So I see,” Arthur replied, abandoning the compromised alarm system to inspect the pasta on the stove. It looked edible enough, and Arthur was reasonably sure Eames wasn’t here to kill him, but Arthur didn’t survive this long by being careless. He quietly pulled his gun from its holster and rested his thumb lightly on the safety as he moved to stand directly behind Eames’ seat on the couch.  
  
Oblivious, Eames gestured at the TV with his fork. “Can you believe that thing is worth nearly half a million pounds?”  
  
Arthur had been too busy staring at the hair curling over Eames’ shirt collar to register what was playing. Looking up, Arthur saw an antiques expert appraising an admittedly ugly Art Deco lamp for a lady with a brassy red perm and a Texan accent. “You broke into my safe house to watch PBS and eat macaroni and cheese.”  
  
Eames scoffed, but his gaze never wavered from the screen. “I’m working. And it’s Cacio e pepe. Much classier. Put your gun away, Darling, and join me.”  
  
Eames’ nonchalance was infuriating and Arthur deliberately flicked the safety off, the familiar click seeming to echo in the small room. “It’s macaroni and cheese and you need to get the fuck off my couch before I shoot you and ruin the new floors.”  
  
Eames’ only response was to shush him, leaning toward the TV in rapt attention. When the show switched to a new appraisal, Eames jumped off and over the couch in a burst of energy and landed smoothly in front of Arthur. Grabbing Arthur’s face with both hands he kissed him enthusiastically on both cheeks. “Cheers, Darling. Enjoy the pasta.”  
  
And with that, Eames headed straight out the door, leaving Arthur standing in his living room, gripping his gun until it dug into his palms, trying and failing to force down the blush heating his cheeks.  
  
It took Arthur several moments to collect himself. Eames always had this effect on him. He took Arthur, the always calm, always collected point man and reduced him to a fucking teenager with a schoolboy crush and shaky hands. And he knew it, too. Why else would he do shit like break into Arthur’s house and cook dinner and fucking kiss him on the cheek like that was something they did?  
  
Arthur hated how Eames could get under his skin. Make him question himself. Make him want things he couldn’t have. Sighing, Arthur put his gun away and dropped onto the couch. He pulled his laptop out and tried to focus his thoughts on the current job. If he left the TV on in the background, it was just because he was too lazy to turn it off. And if he eventually abandoned his work to watch Masterpiece Theater while eating Eames’ leftover pasta, it was just because Eames brought out the teenage girl in him.  


* * *

  
  
Eames showed up again two weeks later. Apparently Arthur’s brilliant idea to electrify the front door had done nothing to discourage him from breaking and entering. Arthur took in the scene in a moment of deja vu. The pasta on the stove. Eames on the couch. The overweight antiques appraiser on the television.  
  
“How did you get past the buzzer?” Arthur asked.  
  
“I didn’t.” Eames replied, and held out his arm. Arthur walked closer and inspected the arm. All the fine blond hairs were standing on end.  
  
Arthur choked back a laugh. “I might as well turn it off, then. I think my neighbors are noticing the effect its having on the local cats.”  
  
“Teaches them to stay off your porch though, doesn’t it?”  
  
Arthur is opening his mouth to reply when he caught sight of a new lamp gracing his end table.  It was a hideous thing, with a gilded mermaid wrapped around the base and a stained glass lampshade. Arthur’s eyes snapped to Eames, then to the television, then back to Eames. His jaw dropped. “Eames, do you watch The Antique Roadshow to _troll_ for _marks_?”    
  
“Don’t look so astonished, Darling. I do occasionally have good ideas.”  
  
“I’m not surprised you’re _clever_ , Eames, I’m surprised you’re such an asshole!”  
  
Eames twisted around to narrow his eyes at Arthur. “How exactly am I more of an asshole for relieving people of artwork they’ve no intention of properly caring for than _you_ are for sneaking into people’s heads with Cobb and scrambling their brains for breakfast?”  
  
Arthur drew up short. Eames had a point. “It just seems…wrong. To take advantage of innocent…PBS watchers?” Arthur fought back a smile as Eames laughed at him, not unkindly.  
  
“There’s a lady in Tampa with an original Warhol gathering dust above her ferret cage. Care to help me liberate it?” Something in Eames’ eyes called to Arthur, invited him to loosen the reins, to be young and reckless for once.  
  
“Oh God, yes.” Arthur said.  


* * *

  
  
  
  
  



End file.
